Beyond the Storm
by attackamazon
Summary: With Ulfric Stormcloak dead and the Empire victorious, Skyrim can begin the long road back from war at last. As the Jarls convene for the Moot, Gallica - Dragonborn - finds herself once again embroiled in the struggle over the throne, even as she plans her marriage to General Tullius. But history has a way of interrupting the best of plans, and a new threat is already on its way.
1. A Claim to the Throne

_There were a few requests for a sequel to Between Empires and Legends, and just recently I was struck by an intriguing plot for the further adventures of Gallica. Now that Bethesda claims to have finished work on Skyrim and there will not be a DLC that addresses the Moot, I thought I might take the liberty of filling in a few details myself. To everyone who read and enjoyed Between Empires and Legends, thank you so much! Hopefully this next instalment in the story won't disappoint. :) If you haven't read it, you may want to consider doing so before reading this story. I've tried to recap certain important plot points in order to make this one stand alone, but the previous story will provide an extra dimension of insight into what's going on._

* * *

Dawn reflected off of the great dome of the Blue Palace, perched out on the cliffs like a sapphire jewel rising from the sea, as the city of Solitude came alive around it. Every day in the capital of Skyrim was a busy one, especially in the aftermath of the bloody civil war, but the last few days had seen an extra burst of activity and excitement. The Moot, the council of Jarls that would elect the next king or queen of Skyrim, was finally at hand. There was a festival air in the streets, as banners of victory and welcome streamed gaily from the eaves of houses and from the parapets of Castle Dour, but there was also palpable trepidation about what was to come. With the Empire's tacit support behind Jarl Elisif, the wife of the previous High King, most assumed that the heavy mantle of rulership would fall on her young shoulders, but more than a handful of concerns had been raised in a quiet corner of the Winking Skeever Inn about the queen's age and competence. What Skyrim needed now was a strong leader, one that could unite the people and heal the wounds of war. A leader like the late High King Torygg might have grown into one day. Or, though no one would have admitted it out loud, a leader like Ulfric Stormcloak could have been, had he been able to put aside his rage and pride. And so the people of Solitude waited and watched as, one by one, the Jarls of the Nine Holds assembled at the Palace, and the country held its breath for peace.

~~0~~

Gallica rose later than was her custom, already feeling out of sorts as she wiped the sleep from her eyes and remembered what lay ahead of her today. She had been up too late the night before, her presence being required at a reception for the visiting Jarls, each of whom seemed to want more of the Dragonborn's time and attention than the last. She had been alternately congratulated on her victories and interrogated about the battle and her opinions on the Moot before General Tullius had mercifully rescued her on the grounds that she was needed to discuss the security of the event the following day. Though that, she reflected with an unconscious smile, was hardly the only reason she had been up late recently.

A month had passed since Gallica had returned to Solitude, and almost three had gone by now since the terrible battle that had culminated in Ulfric's death at her hands. The memories were still tender and bone-sore, like the jagged scar on her side from Galmar's final act of vengeance in this world, but day by day she was learning to live with it. At first, she had been lost, nearly wild with grief and such intense self-loathing that she could barely stand to be in her own skin, unable to wash the memory of Ulfric's blood from her hands though she scrubbed them with sand until they bled. By chance, she had met with a recruiter for the Dawnguard on the road and had enlisted anonymously in Isran's vendetta against the vampires, fully expecting that she would be killed and the nightmare of bearing the weight of the world would finally be over with. But, despite her recklessness, she had not been killed and the experience had begun to heal the part of her that had been so badly broken in the Palace of the Kings.

And Tullius had still been waiting for her there at the end of it. She could never forget Ulfric and what she had once felt for him, but no longer did Gallica feel the need to bury her future beside him in his crypt either. She was, finally, free. And though it would take some time for her to get fully used to the idea of letting herself be loved by someone again, Tullius had proven himself more than a match for the challenge so far and she looked forward to their limited time alone together in the evenings. Though she had not yet experienced him as a lover - he teased her about having to marry him first so as to save his shortcomings until it was too late - it was the company of Tullius the man, with all his passions and growling good-humor, that gave her sense of peace.

Not that Gallica was likely to get much peace today. She dressed quickly, tied back her long blonde hair, and called her housecarl in to help her don the iconic dragonplate armor that had become an almost revered symbol since she had defeated the dark dragon Alduin and warded off the apocalypse of Nord legend. The Jarls and the people would expect to see the Dragonborn today, and the title no longer chafed at her as it once had. A few bites of bread, and she was on her way to the Blue Palace, hurrying through the bannered streets and falling in with the dignified hustle in the Palace courtyard as the late-arriving nobles sorted themselves out and exchanged gossip.

"Dragonborn," a familiar voice called out of the crowd as Gallica entered the great hall, and she looked up to see Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun standing on the walkway overlooking the lower entrance. The Whiterun party was the last to arrive it seemed, having been absent at the reception the night before. The Jarl seemed in particularly fine fettle this morning, the care-lines on his brow eased, the gold of his circlet and intricately worked cloak pins and chain glinting in the morning light, and a triumphant grin on his face. She smiled, genuinely pleased to see him, for he was one of the first allies she had made when she had first come to Skyrim, and made her way up the stairs to clasp his arm heartily in welcome. He clapped her on the shoulder. "It is good to see you again, my friend. You gave us all quite the scare with your disappearance."

"I always turn up when I'm needed," Gallica replied, nodding briefly to Hrongar, Balgruuf's blond hulk of a younger brother, who stood nearby looking rather uncomfortable. She sympathized, being a woman of the field and not the court herself.

"And I think Skyrim will have a very great need of you now," Balgruuf continued. Gallica turned her gaze back up to him, quizzically, but he only smiled more broadly. There was clearly something on the Jarl's mind, but he was not ready to share it with her just yet. Still, patience was not one of his virtues, and Gallica knew from experience that he would come out with it sooner or later. "But, come. Will you join Hrongar and me at the counsel table today? You are a citizen of Whiterun after all."

"I think Tullius already has a claim on me," she replied, catching sight of Legate Rikke across the room, scanning the crowd like a falcon, and she shrugged apologetically. "A soldier's work is never done."

"A truer word never was spoken," Balgruuf chuckled, nodding graciously as Gallica extracted herself and hurried over towards Rikke.

"There you are," the dark-haired commander, resplendent in her carefully shined and oiled parade armor, hissed tersely. "I was about to send someone out to find you."

If Balgruuf was looking more pleased with himself than usual, Rikke looked more on edge. Gallica remembered how much the Legate detested politics. Well, they were all going to get their fair share of that over the next few days. Before Rikke could continue, a herald moved out among those assembled.

"Way for the royal blood of Skyrim! The Jarls' Moot is assembling now in the high hall!"

"Let's get this over with," Rikke said, and Gallica followed her back to the large meeting chamber where the fate of Skyrim would be decided.

~~0~~

Though not uncomfortably crowded, the Moot chamber milled with activity as the Jarls and their advisors settled themselves down around the tables, the servants hurrying to place pitchers of water and wine and finger-foods to tide over what was likely to be a long morning of discussion. As the interim ruler, Jarl Elisif took pride of place in the hall, her queenly stature marred only somewhat by the slightness of her form in the great high seat. It made her look even younger than usual, and if not for the bulk of her enormous housecarl standing firmly behind her, it would have been easy to see her as weak. Gallica's eyes fell immediately to Tullius seated directly to her left, his noble Imperial features and military bearing accenting everything that Elisif was not. As his eyes met hers, she immediately understood that he recognized the incongruity as well and was calculating on how best to leaven the visual effect. Quietly, Gallica and Rikke made their way over to stand at attention behind the General and the erstwhile queen, lending their formidable presence and understood approval to her suit.

After the refreshments had been dispersed, the doors to the chamber firmly secured, and an opening prayer intoned by the High Priest of the city, finally, the chamber grew silent and Tullius stood up to speak. Gallica watched as he rose up to his full height, cleared his throat slightly, and scanned his audience, making careful eye contact with each of the Jarls. This, too, was one reason she had begun to fall in love with him. Rarely had she met anyone who carried themselves with the same confident control and unself-consciousness that Tullius naturally exuded, and it never ceased to affect her. Gallica could hardly remember a time when she had _not_ felt self-conscious.

"Since the death of High King Torygg, at the request of his widow Queen Elisif, I have shouldered the burden of Skyrim's government as Imperial military governor on behalf of his Majesty Emperor Titus Mede II. With the traitor Ulfric Stormcloak dead and victory declared, it is time that the powers granted in trust to me for the duration of wartime necessity were returned back to a true ruler of Skyrim. Therefore, I urge this council of Jarls to choose wisely a High King or Queen that will govern the province of Skyrim effectively and as a true peer and councilor to His Imperial Majesty."

"Does the Emperor propose a candidate, General Tullius?" asked the recently installed Jarl Brina of Dawnstar, her voice ringing clearly and crisply in the quiet hall. Though her primary experience with Dawnstar had been with the deposed and rather disagreeable Jarl Skald, Gallica had heard only good things about Brina Merilis so far. Gallica herself had been instrumental in reconquering the Pale for the Empire, and knew from Rikke's intelligence that Merilis had once been a mid-level Legion officer and was well-respected in the city of Dawnstar, both traits that placed her at the top of the list for succession after Skald's removal. No small wonder now that the retired Nord Legionnaire would be the first to pose this question, and no doubt much would be made of that in private later.

"Though the ultimate decision lies with the royal blood of Skyrim, it pleases me to extend my support as military governor on the Emperor's behalf to Jarl Elisif, who has a claim by right of Imperial law and by marriage to the throne of Skyrim," Tullius answered. A murmur went up from the assembled,as he took his seat once more. Maven Black-Briar, the newly seated Jarl of the Rift and behind the scenes power over much of the city of Riften, narrowed her dark, intelligent eyes and smiled as she toyed with the silver goblet in front of her.

"But does Jarl Elisif accept this generous nomination?" she asked, carefully. All eyes turned to Elisif, who with a glance at her steward - nervously, perhaps? - rose from her chair.

"If it is the Emperor's will to support me in my claim to the throne, then I accept. By ancient Nord tradition, the wife of a deceased Jarl has a right to rule in his stead if no other heirs exist. By Imperial custom, the Jarl of Solitude has always been High King of Skyrim. On those grounds, if this council deems me worthy, I will proudly wear the mantle of High Queen in my husband's stead."

"Indeed," Maven agreed, smoothly, the corners of her mouth tipping up even further. Gallica felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, as she suddenly got the mental image of the raven-haired business magnate toying with Elisif like a sabre-cat toying with a lost fawn before the fatal bite. "One can hardly argue with established tradition, but there are those, perhaps here in this room, who are disposed to think that your youth and inexperience would be a hindrance to your reign. Especially, now, with so much at stake. How would you answer them?"

An uncomfortable silence descended as Elisif considered this, though Gallica could see the shifting of eyes among the assembled Jarls, which told her that Maven had only spoken aloud what most of them had been thinking. Elisif looked down for a moment, gathering herself for her reply.

"It is true that I am young and that I have not had the many years of valuable experience in government that you, my peers of the Elder Council, have gathered over the course of your lives. But a new age in Skyrim is coming. We have the Dragonborn here with us, who has brought us safely through the dark time of Alduin's doom, as testament to this, do we not? Perhaps it is a time for learning new ways and for new legends. And that is the province of the young, who have not yet become set in the old ways of doing things. Should I retain my husband's position as Jarl of Solitude and High Queen of Skyrim, I will rule as my Torygg would have done: with justice and honesty and in solidarity with our Imperial brethren. Torygg was young also, but who among you would consider him a less than capable ruler? I ask only that you grant me the same consideration."

It was an impassioned speech and, as Elisif took her seat once more, it was plain to see that her words had also impressed others in the room. But, it would take more than fair words to convince the more skeptical of the Jarls, Gallica knew. Jarl Igmund of the Reach stood, his long face bristling with a few days of steel grey beard growth, and nodded.

"I will support Jarl Elisif for High Queen of Skyrim. Our traditions allow it, the Empire is favorably disposed towards her, and in my experience a crown is no heavier on a young head than an older one. I will follow her as our High Queen." With that, he retook his seat, and a general susurrus of conversation began and was cut short by a harsh laugh from the back of the hall. Gallica craned her head to see who had emitted the offending sound, and was surprised to see the thin, sallow face of Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal as the aging seeress rose from her chair. Eschewing the elaborate feminine robes of the other female Jarls, Idgrod appeared much the same here in the Moot as she did in her own hall in the swampy lands of Hjaalmarch: clad in dark-colored severe breeches and tunic, with precious little gold or ornamentation to be seen. It increased the effect of her already eerie aura.

"You lend your support so quickly, Igmund. Does it mean so little that you would throw it about before you have heard what other candidates may step forward?"

Igmund scowled at her from his chair, but said nothing in reply, and Idgrod turned her sharply amused gaze around the room, obviously enjoying the discomfort she was provoking in her peers. Well did Gallica remember what it was like to be on the receiving end of that unnaturally knowing visage.

"None can deny the fairness or sincerity of pretty Elisif here. But we have heard only of _her _suit for the throne. Are there no others? Does not even one of the Jarls of Skyrim wish to make his or her own case to ascend the throne?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind being High King," Siddgeir of Falkreath quipped, reclining idly in his chair as he raised a glass of wine in toast to Idgrod. "As long as the wine is as good as this every night."

A chuckle ran through the room, but settled into an uneasily as everyone looked around, trying to ascertain if there really were any serious challenges to Elisif's claim. Suddenly, Balgruuf stood up. Though not the most respected of the Jarls for his qualities as a ruler, he was perhaps the tallest in stature and the most impressive in appearance of those gathered, and his stake at Whiterun was the richest of the Holds. His opinion carried weight beyond the force of mere rhetoric. _It can't be_, Gallica thought, incredulously. _Balgruuf would never seek that kind of power for himself. Would he?_ She remembered the secret he had carried in his smile out in the foyer, and grew less certain. For all he disdained the greater politics of Skyrim, had the Jarl of Whiterun finally become a politician now?

"I have a claim to put forward," he began. The noise in the room died down at once, and Balgruuf continued, "much has been made over the last few years about our Nord traditions. Who here has not heard the traitor Ulfric bluster and brag about the killing of Torygg under the laws of the 'True Nords'? That is not to say our traditions should be shunted aside. You all know me and my esteem for the old ways. But these traditions of succession when there is no true heir are _modern_ traditions. From the oldest times, succession was determined by deeds. A king's son could only hold the throne if he were strong _in his own right, _not because of the things his dead father had accomplished. Skyrim was built on the strength and power of its kings. The _Empire _itself was built on Nord strength. It was by the traditions instituted by the Empire that we set Torygg on his throne. May he find glory in Sovngarde forever, but tradition did not save him from Ulfric's Voice."

Several mutters of protest sounded from the assembled company, and Gallica glanced to the side in time to see Falk Firebeard, Elisif's steward, surreptitiously lay a protective hand on her elbow. The girl's expression had not changed, but her face had gone dreadfully pale and Gallica could well imagine what must be going through her mind. Though she had not had as strong a response as she might once have had, she did not thank Balgruuf kindly for bringing up Ulfric either. She could almost feel the scowl forming on Tullius' face, though she could not see it from where she stood.

"Are we to assume that you are putting yourself forward as a candidate, Jarl Balgruuf?" Igmund asked impatiently, his face still creased in an affronted frown from the barb Idgrod had flung at him earlier.

"No," Balgruuf replied, shaking his head. "I seek no other position for myself than my highseat in Whiterun. I come today to champion another."

"This should be entertaining," muttered Siddgeir with a smirk, but he was ignored this time.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Idgrod replied, grinning in such a way that it finally dawned on Gallica that, whatever Balgruuf was about to say, the mad old seeress was in on it as well. This was a setup between the two of them. For what purpose? _What in Mundus are you two up to?_

Gallica felt her blood run cold a moment later as Balgruff turned, looking her dead in the eye from across the council chamber and pointing right at her.

"There is only one viable choice for High Queen of Skyrim, by tradition, by right, and by necessity, and she stands before us here in this chamber. I nominate the Dragonborn. There is no other that I will willingly follow."

Gallica would have cause later to be glad that her helm obscured most of her face, as her jaw dropped open in shock and a clamour of voices, all talking over each other at once, erupted around her.


	2. An Innocent Conversation

_Queen_, Gallica thought with a prickling, horrified shudder. She had only just come to some sort of acceptance of her role as the Dragonborn, and now they wanted her to be _queen, _too? With the Moot in recess to give the assembly time to collect themselves after the shocking declaration, Gallica removed her helm and made a beeline for Balgruuf and Idgrod, who were discussing something in low tones together to one side of the great hall. Idgrod turned and grinned, all too pleased with herself, as Gallica approached.

"Ah, Balgruuf, I believe we're due for a lecture," the Jarl of Morthal said, her smile belaying the faux soberness in her tone.

"What was that all about?" Gallica hissed at them quietly, trying to keep her voice down.

"The future of Skyrim," Balgruuf replied. He looked tired, as if the speech had sapped his energy, but he didn't drop his gaze from hers and he didn't back down. She glared at him for a moment and then glanced to the side to see Tullius and Rikke approaching.

"I don't know what you two think you're doing," she whispered quickly, turning to fix both Jarls with an angry stare each in turn, "but this stops right now. We - "

"Jarl Balgruuf. Jarl Idgrod," Tullius interrupted, languorously, as he arrived. Gallica stepped aside, still highly vexed, to let the General speak. Better to let him do the talking while she tried to get a handle on her nerves. Though his face betrayed nothing, Gallica was certain Tullius was just as rattled by the scene as she was, but he was the better politician. He smiled, though the expression did not quite reach his eyes as they locked onto Balgruuf's. "I think there are a few things we need to discuss, don't you?"

"I made my opinion clear earlier, General Tullius," Balgruuf replied, with wary civility. Though he had eventually accepted Tullius' help during the war, the Jarl of Whiterun had not forgiven the General for the pressure brought to bear on him and his city it seemed, nor was he ever likely to fully trust an agent of the Empire. Gallica would probably have to talk him out of this hair-brained scheme on her own later.

"So I heard," Tullius acknowledged, maintaining a friendly tone. "I was hoping you could satisfy my curiosity on one point, though. It was my understanding that the High King or Queen of Skyrim had to be chosen from Ysgramor's royal blood or at least from among the Jarls. And as far as we know, Legate Gallica's only ties to nobility are through her Imperial mother."

"Her dragonblood is evidence enough of nobility," Balgruuf responded, narrowing his eyes. "Did it take nobility for Tiber Septim to found the Empire?"

"You have a point. I know little of these Nord customs other than what I'm told," Tullius conceded and then turned to Idgrod. "And you agree with this, Jarl Idgrod? Do you believe that this is truly wise?"

"I believe that you can see as well as I can what is coming, General," Idgrod replied raspily, her smile dampening into seriousness for a moment as her crow's eyes glittered underneath thick brows. "Do you think for an instant that that poor girl over there has even the slightest chance of standing up to the treachery to come?"

Gallica watched carefully as Tullius stared at the aging seeress for a moment, his jaw working almost imperceptibly as he sifted her words for meaning, before he glanced back to where Elisif stood near the throne, deep in conversation with her steward. She was certain that Idgrod meant the inevitable treachery of the Thalmor, but one could never be certain. Whatever Idgrod saw in her visions and dreams, the information she chose to pass on usually had more than one meaning. As Gallica herself could well attest to. _Treachery_ . . .

"I am no High Queen," Gallica said immediately, frowning. "I'm Dragonborn, but I'm just a soldier. And I have no wish to be queen."

A sad smile creased Idgrod's face at that. "And that, my dear Dragonborn, is one of the many reason why it _must_ be you. For all of our sakes."

Before Gallica could think of a reply, Tullius stepped in. The Jarls and their attendants and advisors were beginning to reconvene and there was no time to argue the issue any further.

"I see no harm in discussing it. If the council deems Legate Gallica a viable candidate, we can discuss then whether the Legion is willing to release her from service in order to pursue such a thing."

_Praise the Eight_, Gallica breathed internally, feeling sudden sense relief wash over her. In the aftermath of the civil war, she had almost forgotten that she was still technically obligated to service in the Legion for a further nine years through her reenlistment. Tullius had not made an issue of it as there was little need to, but the Legion nominally had the first claim on her and, even if the Jarls by some terrible and unlikely miracle all agreed to put her to the throne, Tullius could effectively veto their decision by refusing to release her until she had served out her enlistment. Only the Emperor himself could nullify that decision. Feeling considerably more at ease, Gallica followed the General back to their space at the tables to see how this was going to play out.

~~0~~

The remainder of the afternoon, once everything had settled back down, was primarily spent considering whether Balgruuf's proposal even constituted a legitimate nomination. Scholars on the lore and history were brought in from the College of Bards to expound on how the situation had been handled in previous centuries. The allegation that Gallica was not of the royal blood fell by the wayside quickly, as no one seemed inclined to argue that being Dragonborn was not sufficiently equivalent to royal descent, and several of the new Jarls had only a tenuous claim to royal lineage themselves. Since Gallica was not a sitting Jarl or even related to one, the central question for most of the Jarls was whether she could feasibly replace Elisif, who did have a legal right of succession to the Jarlship of Solitude if not necessarily the throne of Skyrim. Even so, Igmund of the Reach and Elisif herself were the only two Jarls to argue strongly against the substitution. The four Jarls that had been recently elevated to fill the places left by Ulfric's deposed supporters were not likely to argue against a system that had ultimately put them into power over more noble peers. Idgrod and Balgruuf were in favor of anything that would ultimately put Gallica on the throne, and Siddgeir of Falkreath's only contribution was that he would be more than happy to marry Elisif himself and take her off of Solitude's hands. By the time the Moot broke up for the evening, the Jarls were cautiously agreed that the proposal would have to be taken seriously. Gallica would have to offer some sort of official response the following day.

A feast was to be held that night, but the thought of everyone watching her, taking her weight and measure for queenliness, and speculating about whether she had put Balgruuf up to it or not, made Gallica's skin crawl. Tullius and Rikke found her in the foyer as she was trying to extricate herself from a conversation with Erikur, one of Elisif's slimier Thanes, and make a break for home. Whether the older nobleman was simply trying to hedge his bets or to insinuate himself as a potential suitor should Gallica take the throne, she was not certain. Either proposition made her feel ill.

"You'll excuse us. The Legate has duties to attend to back at the Castle," Tullius told the Nord noble firmly in a tone that brooked no dispute. Gratefully, Gallica shrugged at the affronted Erikur and hurried out into the chilly evening after her colleagues.

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Rikke said, once they were well past the palace guards, "I don't think that went well today."

"No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy, you know that," Tullius remarked calmly, nodding to a city guard who was passing. "Notice that no other serious candidates were proposed. If the only alternative to Elisif they can come up with is Gallica here, then we have nothing to worry about. In fact, that presents us with some interesting options."

Rikke hurried a few steps to come up beside her commander. Even in the dim lantern light, Gallica could see the look of incredulity on her face.

"Sir, you're not seriously suggesting - "

"I'm not suggesting anything yet," Tullius replied, and stopped in front of Proudspire Manor, Gallica's residence. Fire-light flickered in the downstairs windows, creating a comforting glow on the cobblestones, and Gallica felt that the only thing she wanted in the world right at that moment was to be out of her armor and relaxing in her own house while the warmth of the fire and a good bottle of mead chased away all this bother about succession and politics. Perhaps the same thing had occurred to Tullius, as he turned to Rikke. "Go on along. I've had my scribe reading through the old treaties and concession between the Empire and Skyrim. Get him to brief you on anything of interest that he's found. For now, I need to have a chat with Legate Gallica here, to make sure we're agreed on certain points before tomorrow. I'll be along shortly."

Rikke glanced at Gallica, her expression unreadable, before nodding curtly and turning to trot off towards the Castle. They had taken pains to keep their relationship and the time they spent together off duty as quiet as possible until everything was ready for the engagement to be publicly announced, but Gallica had often wondered over the last month how much Rikke actually knew about her and Tullius. The older officer had known the General for far longer than Gallica had and they were as familiar with each other by now as it was possible for two people to be. As perceptive as Rikke was, no doubt she suspected that something was going on, but she had never asked about it or given any indication that she noticed. If the other Legate was at all jealous or concerned, she hid it masterfully. Well, the relationship was going to come out sooner or later and, as Gallica had come to consider Rikke a good friend, she hoped it would not stir things up too badly. They would all still have to work together for some time to come.

Gallica turned and fished her keys from her belt, opening the door to the manor and stepping into the relative warmth inside. Jordis was taking her ease in the nook off of the kitchen and stood immediately, her eyes shining.

"Welcome back, my Thane. How goes the Moot?" the housecarl asked eagerly, before noticing Tullius emerge from the foyer. It was slightly comical to see the younger warrior face attempt to reconfigure itself into the cool, professional look she reserved for company while still looking hopefully at Gallica for news.

"As well as can be expected," Gallica replied, the first hint of a smile she had felt all day creasing her face. "Don't trouble yourself. The General and I have some matters to discuss privately. We will be upstairs. If any . . . visitors . . . arrive, kindly tell them I'm not to be disturbed and I'll speak with them tomorrow."

She turned towards the stairs with Tullius in tow, stopping only to collect a bottle of wine, and a little fruit and bread from the kitchen. She could feel the housecarl's eyes follow the two of them, fairly bursting with curiosity. It had become something of a game recently, keeping Jordis guessing about exactly what the General and the Dragonborn were up to when they met in the evenings. The housecarl was too proper to ask outright, but too curious by nature not to occasionally fish for information. Gallica was not in any mood for games tonight, however, and she said nothing else until she and Tullius were alone together upstairs and her chamber door securely closed behind them.

"Playing our hand a little close to the table tonight, aren't we?" Tullius asked, but smiled humorously as he said it. He was in on the running joke with her housecarl and knew that they were doing nothing that was strictly inappropriate, but they both understood that the less that was known about their private affairs at the moment, the better things would be.

"I'm certain Jordis already knows what we're up to. She's never been anything but loyal; I wouldn't worry about it," Gallica replied, depositing the plate of food and the wine on the low table in the room. She removed her helm, her honey-colored hair flipping out and settling down her back in wavy tresses as she set the fearsome thing aside on the armor rack in the corner of the room. Tullius watched, the faint smile still hovering on his face, as she unbelted her cingulum, wasp-waisted Imperial sword and all, and lay it aside as well. She met his gaze with a question.

"I'll need to get back soon," he replied, answering it, and then relented. "But, I suppose there's no harm in taking a few moments respite."

He moved over to her first and assisted her with the difficult buckles under her arms as Gallica stripped off the dragon bone cuirass and pauldrons.

"A septim for your thoughts," Tullius asked her while they worked. The feel of the rough skin of his hand meeting the flesh of her neck as he helped her lift the heavy plates off over her head made her face flush warmly, as it always did. She wriggled out of the remaining straps, took the cuirass from him, and hefted it onto the crossbeam of the rack.

"I can't believe Balgruuf today," Gallica replied, suddenly irritated again as she tried to keep her mind focused. Turning, she began to work at the buckles at the shoulders of his breastplate in turn.

"I can," he replied, dryly, shrugging off the heavy chest plate as she worked it free. "He's a zealot at heart, but a practical one. What the Stormcloaks wanted to accomplish by force, he hopes to accomplish gradually by law."

Free of the heaviest and most restricting pieces of his armor, which Gallica leaned against the rack next to her own, Tullius stretched and sighed, running his fingers through his closely-cropped silvering hair. Gallica moved to start on one of his bracers, but he shook his head and caught her hand instead, bringing it to his lips.

"I've little enough time with you tonight as it is without spending the bulk of it on straps and buckles," he murmured, raising an eyebrow at her roguishly. Gallica smiled and stepped in to him, her hands moving up the padded cloth over his solid chest, feeling his arm slide around her waist as she kissed him. He smelled of clean male sweat and leather and the metallic tang of the oil that was used to clean his armor, and she thought that there was no other scent in the world that could be as wonderful as that.

"Maybe you should stay here tonight instead. It's a shorter walk to the Palace in the morning, after all," she teased in reply, knowing full well that he would not. He chuckled and moved away from her to pour wine into the two goblets she had brought up.

"Now, that would set some people to talking," he replied, bringing her one of the cups and lifting his own. "I can just hear the cries of Imperial conspiracy now. And, I wouldn't want to go down in Nord history as the man who put a stain on the Dragonborn's honor."

"I don't doubt those accusations are going to be flying soon no matter what we do," she observed returning the smile. They moved over to the sitting area and he leaned back in his chair with a grunt and briefly closed his eyes, enjoying the position of relaxation.

"I should have known Balgruuf wasn't finished being a stone in my boot," Tullius observed after a moment. "He seems to have a talent for interfering. Even in plans he knows nothing about."

"How do you mean?" Gallica asked, as she broke up the small loaf of bread. The light from the candles cast a warm glow around the room, and the tension of the day was beginning to disperse with the aid of the wine and her company. The last thing she wanted to do was dwell on it, but it did need to be discussed. And there was something particular on Tullius' mind, clearly.

"I've been discussing our engagement with Rikke," he began, confirming her suspicions. _I'll have to get the other side of this story later, _Gallica reminded herself as he raised his head to look up at her with a wry expression. "So that you'll stop looking at me like that, we do have her blessing. It's the first time I've ever had to ask one of my _subordinates _for their approval. But there are some problems of command and partiality, as you know. If we were in Cyrodiil, I could just transfer you to another command under another general, but obviously that's not an option here. Rikke agrees that your influence carries too much weight right now, so it would be foolish to discharge you from the Legion. I had intended to make an arrangement with Elisif for you to be transferred to her service indefinitely after her coronation. That would keep you in the Legion, nominally, but take you far enough out from under my direct command that it wouldn't raise too many eyebrows for us to marry. You could remain in the city, of course, and Elisif would reap certain political benefits in the arrangement."

"Even if the Jarls choose me over Elisif, I won't accept it," Gallica replied, simply, shrugging. "Then they'll have no choice but to elect Elisif. Problem solved."

"If the Jarls get it into their heads that you're the better choice, I think it's going to be more difficult to refuse than you think. The Jarls . . . well, aside from that welp Siddgeir . . . aren't fools. They can sense which way the wind is blowing, and they know a weak leader when they see one," he replied and stared up into the darkness of the rafters, his expression taking on a shadowed look as his brow creased into a slight frown. "Truthfully, if I loved you less, I'd put you on that throne in a heartbeat myself."

Gallica reached out then and laced her fingers into his where his hand lay on the arm of the chair, and felt him squeeze back. She understood all too well what it was like to be in a situation where there were no good answers and no easy way out.

"I have too much work to do to be tied down in a palace all day," she said dissmissively, attempting humor. "The Jarls will surely be able to grasp that I'm more valuable as a soldier than a queen. I'll beat it into Balgruuf's stubborn head myself if it comes down to it. He usually listens to me."

Tullius glanced at her, a smile creeping back onto his stolid face, and she willingly let him pull her towards him. He shifted slightly to accommodate her as she settled astride his lap, his hands moving to toy with the firm curve of her waist and side. Though he seemed determined to respect protocol and propriety by not bedding her until after the marriage, she had the idea that he enjoyed baiting her - and himself, too - like this on occasion. If the effect it had on him was anything like it was for her, then they really must do something about that official engagement as soon as possible.

"You won't hold it against me if I'd prefer to keep you for myself, then?" he asked, gazing up at her suggestively, as if admiring the view. She grinned at him and leaned closer in response, feeling the tension and tightening of his muscles that confirmed his physical reaction to her.

"On the contrary. I think you're rather hoping I _will_ hold it against you," she replied, surprising herself even with the sultriness of the comment. He laughed at that, a genuinely pleased laugh that time, and gathered her into his arms, kissing her fully on the lips and then down her neck until she had to wriggle and gasp from the touch.

"I think that's my cue to be on my way, or I'll never make it back to Dour tonight," Tullius growled, pleasantly, leaning back with a self-satisfied air.

"And so all my clever plans fall to ruins again," she sighed with mock drama as she let him up from the chair. "You don't play fair.

"I play to win. You'll just have to make an honest man out of me, I suppose. Another reason why I intend to make sure this Moot ends quickly," he replied, as she fetched his breastplate and helped him don it once more. When he was re-situated, the picture of military order again, he embraced her, kissing her on the cheek tenderly. "I will see you in the morning. We'll sort this out and then back to business as usual. This time next week, this little wrinkle will have been the least of our worries, I'm sure."

Gallica walked him to the door and allowed herself to watch for a moment as Tullius turn back onto the street and started up the slope of the road towards Castle before stepping back inside. Jordis appeared to have retired for the night already, so there was no one around at which to pretend for. Still, better safe than sorry. She climbed the steps back up to her room, kicked off her boots and stripped down to her tunic before falling backwards onto the soft feather-stuffed mattress with a sigh. She stretched out her arms in the wide bed and thought how nice it would have been to have company tonight after such an unsettling day. For comfort, the familiar presence in the dark, if not for sex. In truth, despite the playful flirtation that she and Tullius indulged in when they were alone, she was content to let anything more wait till after the marriage as well. She was looking forward to it. They were a good match for each other and she knew that they could be happy together. But, she had flung herself too easily into Ulfric's arms during a weak moment once, and that had given him power over her that he had ultimately turned against her as a weapon and which had destroyed everything between them. Though Tullius was unlikely enough to do that now, she was determined not to make the same mistakes with him as she had with Ulfric.

Ah, well. Time enough for that once the Moot was over. Gallica rose again briefly to snuff out the candles and slipped back under the covers. _I must be one of the only people in the world ever to turn down an offer of the throne_, she thought, and smiled in the darkness despite the sudden stab of sadness deep in her heart. No doubt, somewhere up in Sovngarde, Ulfric was furious with her just at the thought of it.


	3. Intrigue

"My lady, I told you that the Dragonborn has requested to not be disturbed. I am _certain_ that she will meet with you later."

Gallica was already descending the stairs, dressed and armored for another day at the Moot, when she heard Jordis' exasperated voice drift back from the foyer. _Now what?_ she mouthed, sighing mentally, as she reached the living area and peered around the column to see who was there. Beyond Jordis' sturdy frame in the doorway, Gallica spotted the sharp, knife-edged features of Maven Black-Briar. Though the magnate's body language appeared calm, Gallica could tell even from this distance that the glare the Jarl of Riften was leveling on the housecarl would have frightened away a dragon.

"I think your mistress can make an exception for _me_," Maven stated slowly, with deadly precision. _If you know what's good for you_ seemed to be the implied addendum. Jordis shifted uncomfortably, but didn't budge from her stance in the doorway. _Braver than I thought_, Gallica observed, impressed, and decided to be merciful.

"It's alright, Jordis. I'll handle this," she replied, approaching the door. The housecarl turned, her expression a mixture of irritation, relief, and embarrassment, and nodded stiffly before stepping back from the door. The blonde bodyguard looked looked on suspiciously as Maven smiled her thin smile at Gallica. Now taking Jordis' place in the doorway, Gallica could see what looked like a man-at-arms and another young man in expensive clothes standing out in the street, watching the scene. "Jarl Maven. Is there something I can do for you this morning?"

"Well, now, I was just stopping by to congratulate you on your unexpected rise in society, Dragonborn," the dark-haired woman replied, unwaveringly. Gallica had met the noblewoman a few times before in her travels and nothing about Maven struck her as agreeable. From everything she had heard, the woman was little better than a crime boss and the rest of the family followed suit. Tullius had a similar opinion of her, but she had vested business interests in the Imperial victory and there had been no one else in Riften at the time who could bring order out of the wartime chaos once the Stormcloak-supporting hereditary Jarl was deposed. So far, Maven had certainly done an excellent job of squashing further rebellion and turning the city peaceful and profitable again. "We were just on our way to the Palace in fact. Walk with us, if you are headed in that direction."

Gallica could hardly think of anyone she would prefer to be seen with less, as Maven was certainly only here to further some agenda or other and that was dangerous. She glanced back into the house reluctantly, but she had actually been prepared to walk out the door when she came downstairs and could find no excuse that would not seem flimsy. _It's not far_, she told herself, forcing a smile. _What harm can she do between here and the palace?_

"I am, in fact," she replied as courteously as she could manage, and nodded to Jordis before stepping outside and closing the door behind her. It was a clear morning, the sky blue as a robin's egg. The brisk wind that came in off of the sea was cool, but the days were getting steadily warmer and the dragon-tongues and mountain flowers were already sprouting here and there in flowerbeds that lined the road. Gallica tried to concentrate on that, rather than the company she found herself in.

"I don't believe you have met my grandson Sibbi," Maven continued, gesturing towards the sullen-looking young man who had accompanied her. He appeared to be a few years younger than Gallica, with nearly-shaven dark hair and his grandmother's aristocratic nose and brow, and flush with the haughty air of a stripling youth just verging into manhood. The family resemblance was apparent enough, though Gallica thought that there was something more thuggish about the way he carried himself. He looked a rough cub compared to his sabre-cat of a grandmother, that much was certain. Gallica nodded to him, and he smiled back at her in a fashion that seemed halfway between a smirk and a leer.

As they walked along, Gallica and Maven in front while the man-at-arms and Sibbi brought up the rear, Maven apparently tired quickly of the polite charade and decided to broach the real point of her visit.

"Let's get down to business. We're both women of the world," she said, her voice lowering and changing to a rougher tone, more shrewd trader now than politician. "Anyone can see that Elisif is a puppet that will dance prettily enough for anyone holding her strings. But you're a different matter entirely, and exactly the tonic this place needs after all this unprofitable chaos. I think everyone know who is going to come out on top here. I just want a few assurances from you before I cast my vote."

Gallica's stomach curdled distastefully at the direction the conversation was headed, but she masked her disgust and kept her eyes on the road. No good would come of offending Maven, especially right now with so much at stake.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Jarl Maven."

"Play the saint, if you feel you need to," Maven replied, smiling nastily, "But you know well enough what I mean. A puppet is useful enough, but they only work when you're pulling their strings and I have my own business to attend to. I would rather see someone competent as ruler, who can take care of business on their own. But, I would like to know, in turn, that my support was appreciated. And valued."

Gallica stopped and looked at the older woman. They were in front of the Palace now, and she could see the crowd beginning to coalesce in the courtyard through the gates. This was no conversation that needed to be heard by anyone else.

"I have no intention of becoming queen," she told Maven, lowering her voice and looking the magnate directly in her dark, crafty eyes. "Vote in whatever way your conscience dictates, Maven. Even If I were to ever accept the position, I would rule justly, with no favorites or below board dealings."

"Oh, you _will_ be High Queen. I intend to see to that. That's just good business sense," Maven replied dismissively, her dangerous smile only increasing. "But, whatever your convictions are, you'll learn soon enough that there are some things that can only be accomplished through backroom deals. And you will need my help. Ask your dear General. He'll tell you just the same."

Gallica stared at her frostily, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight. She knew well enough that Tullius had to deal in shady interactions from time to time. Every army had its spies and there were the Thalmor inquisitors, hovering at the edges like ravens over a battlefield, to be pacified. But was Maven implying something else? Was this a hint that she knew about the romantic involvement? It would be just like Maven to have her own spies, and who knew what information might have fallen her way.

"Excuse me," Gallica said firmly, and turned towards the palace, striding quickly away from Maven through the gates. Though she did not want to offend the new Jarl of Riften, the less said to her the better, and Gallica felt that there was nothing she could say that would improve the situation. She made her way directly into the palace, where she found Tullius and Rikke in conversation with Elisif and Falk Firebeard already. She attached herself to their party in order to fend off any of the other Jarls who might feel the need to try to make a similar Daedra's deal and waited anxiously for the second session of the Moot to begin.

~~0~~

"We have two proposed candidates, but the way I see it, we've only heard from one of them," Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold began, once the Moot had been convened for the morning. The room was slightly over-warm, even this early in the day, from the number of bodies present and Gallica could sense the rise in the tension levels from the day before as well. Who knew what had been said behind closed doors? Maven was only the most bold of the Jarls in her dealings. No doubt, other intrigues were going on under the surface that had not reached her ears. Yet. The Jarl of Winterhold turned to Gallica with a kind smile. She had had little experience with the man, but he seemed an amiable sort, less haggard and put upon than his predecessor. Though the previous Jarl, Korir, had also been a decent man, too, in his way. "Dragonborn, what say you to this nomination? Would you become our High Queen?"

Every eye in the room turned to Gallica and she felt her blood surge dizzyingly in her veins. The moment had come. She caught Tullius' eye for a moment, and exchanged the barest of nods, as she stepped forward. The dragonhelm rested on the table before Tullius today. The Jarls would need to be able to read her facial expressions clearly so that there could be no mistake later about what she had meant.

"I am honored, Jarl Kraldar, that Jarl Balgruuf puts such faith in me. I am always gratified to have the good opinion of an honorable man," she said, meeting Balgruuf's eyes pointedly for a moment. He already knew her feelings on the subject, but he nodded solemnly, acknowledging the compliment. Nearby, Idgrod smiled, but Gallica did not meet her gaze. She looked at each of the other Jarls in turn, instead. "But I can't accept Jarl Balgruuf's nomination in good conscience. I am a soldier, my skill is in my sword arm and in my Voice, not in rulership. I will serve the good of Skyrim and the Empire always, but I have no pretensions to rise above my proper place. I think it best, Jarls of Skyrim, if you would choose one from among your own number who has the skill to rule justly and honorably and with wisdom. For my part, as an officer of the Legion, I defer to the good judgment of the Emperor and General Tullius in their support of Jarl Elisif."

As she stepped back, she caught Elisif's relieved smile, but could not return it. _Sorry, Ulfric_, she thought, briefly, though she was relieved. Twice she had escaped the throne, first as Ulfric's queen consort and now as queen in her own right. Hopefully, with this formal refusal, they could finally get on with the real business at hand instead of chasing distractions.

"The Dragonborn is wiser than her years. I suppose that only leaves us with one choice, then," Igmund of Markarth commented, looking similarly relieved, but he was interrupted as Maven Black-briar stood. _Now what?_ Gallica thought, uneasily. Maven's expression was calm and thoughtful, and that almost always boded ill. The hall fell silent as the other Jarls focused, dubiously, on the leader of Riften. She folded her hands in front of her demurely as she surveying her peers with interest.

"I have a few questions for the Dragonborn before we move on, if the Moot will indulge my curiosity," she said, her voice honeyed and unconcerned. No one objected, though more than one uneasy look passed around the room. Gallica watched warily as Maven turned to look at her. "I'm sure we all appreciate your concerns, Dragonborn. I have a wonder, though, that perhaps you can satisfy. You say you are a soldier, as if this should preclude you from being a good queen. And yet, in this room alone, you see Jarl Brina, a retired Legion officer herself, and Jarl Balgruuf, a respected warrior in his own right, and Igmund, who was a great figher against the Reachmen in his youth, among others. Surely, you do not intend to imply that_ they_ are poor rulers of their own holdings because they are men and women of the battlefield."

Eyebrows flew up all throughout the room at Maven's audacity and Gallica could hear a few mutterings rifle through the crowd. Beside her, Tullius shifted uncomfortably, but Gallica could not look at him to gage his reaction.

"No, that was not my intention," she replied and saw the magnate's catlike smile increase.

"Indeed, one might see how a soldier might be_ more_ qualified to rule during these troubled years. One of the duties of a High King or Queen is to protect the realm, after all."

"The greatest kings of our past have been mighty warriors of legendary skill," Balgruuf agreed, cautiously. She could tell that even he was not sure where Maven was going with this line of reasoning, though he did not want to derail a potential ally.

"Just so. And in addition to her martial prowess, our Dragonborn has shown a remarkable capacity for diplomacy. She did, in fact, organize a truce so that the dragons could be dealt with during the thick of the war, as we all well remember," Maven replied, graciously, before turning to Gallica again. The consciously duplicitous glint in her eyes made Gallica's stomach turn. "So, I must ask, Dragonborn, why you seem intent on depriving us of the opportunity to appoint a High Queen of proven - even legendary - military and diplomatic skill? Surely this is exactly what the country needs at this moment in our history, wouldn't you agree?"

"The woman said she was not interested," Igmund growled over the susurrus of background comments, as he took a sip from his goblet of watered wine, looking annoyed. No doubt he was feeling stung again by having been interrupted and contradicted a second time. "I suppose she has her own reasons for doing so."

"The Dragonborn is a humble woman. Who among us, if it were handed to us on a silver platter, would refuse an offer to become High King or Queen, eh?" Idgrod of Morthal croaked. She was obviously enjoying the spectacle and her mad eyes raked the room. "Half of the men and women here owe their highseats to the prowess of the Dragonborn. And all of us have seen her act with great courage and self-sacrifice. Igmund, would you still retain Markarth and the Mournful Throne if not for her successful military leadership in the Reach?"

"I believe we can thank General Tullius for that," the Jarl of Markarth snapped back, bristling visibly. It was his city that had been traded during the Treaty of High Hrothgar, after all. Gallica could not blame him for being bitter about it, especially in light of all the blood that had been spilt getting it back.

"Now, that brings up something I've been wondering about myself," Brunwulf Free-Winter, Ulfric's replacement as Jarl of Windhelm mused, speaking up for the first time in the Moot. He was older than many of the other Jarls, care-worn, with hair and beard greying to white, but he spoke with gravity and good-humor. Gallica knew him as a generally kind man. He had done much for the minorities of Windhelm, using his business interests and economic clout in the city to shield the Dark Elves and Argonians from the worst of Ulfric's neglect and the Stormcloak racism. She hoped that, once everything had been settled, he would be able to see the city reintegrated properly, but that would take time. Windhelm was still not completely pacified and Brunwulf had his work cut out for him just keeping the resentful Stormcloak loyalists in check. Now, the elderly statesman turned his gaze to Tullius inquisitively. "It is sometimes difficult for a person to assess their own qualities. What is your opinion, General? Our Dragonborn has served primarily at your command in the war. I understand she is now among your chief officers. Surely you have some assessment of her qualities as a leader."

Gallica felt her face blench slightly as she recognized the remifications of the question. Maven's eyes narrow in satisfaction and Gallica knew that the magnate had hoped for something like this. The question put Tullius in an impossible position. If he praised Gallica's leadership, it would weaken her argument for why she wished to bow out. If he minimized her leadership potential, he would be criticizing his own command choices and the Dragonborn, which would not reflect well on him politically. Either way, it weakened the Imperial support for Elisif. _Did you plan this somehow?_ Gallica thought, watching Maven and Brunwulf closely, as Tullius considered his response.

"I have always found Legate Gallica to be a great asset in matters of military leadership and strategy," Tullius replied, his voice sober and serious, expressing as little as possible. Brunwulf nodded, smiling, and turned back to Gallica, almost grandfatherly in expression.

"There we have it then. And I believe I can propose a compromise that will suit us all, even you, Dragonborn. It hardly seems right to choose Elisif only because the only other proposed candidate has refused. Perhaps you might be good enough to stay your decision until we have had a chance to discuss it. If nothing else, you provide a useful contrast to Jarl Elisif, and who knows but that you might have a change of heart once you hear what is said in your favor. As much as I hope for a quick decision so that I can return to the work waiting in my city, it does Skyrim no favors to choose rashly out of undue haste. Why not let the Moot speak on it first and see if your feelings are unchanged afterwards?"

Attention shifted immediately and tensely back to Gallica and she repressed the urge to shout at them all. _No_, she thought, exasperated, _how many times do I have to say it?_ But, it was reasonable request, and one that she could not think of a reasonable reply to. _Do something_, she thought at Tullius.

"Or, perhaps, there are other impediments in the Dragonborn's mind," Maven postulated, slyly. "Perhaps she fears reprisal from the Legion should she undermine the Imperial favor towards Elisif?"

The suggestion sent a uncertain rumble through the room and Gallica could see the General bristle. Relations between the Empire and Skyrim were still strained, even without Ulfric to fan the flames, and no doubt more than a few of the Jarls were wary that the Legion would not easily give up its hold on Skyrim's government.

"The Legion's only interest in this council is to see that whoever is appointed as High King or Queen recognizes Imperial sovereignty in these lands. Legate Gallica is free to accept or reject as she wishes in her capacity as Dragonborn. There Legion will not stand in her way," Tullius said, glaring at Maven, before glancing up at Gallica. She stared at him, surprised._ But that was the plan_, she wanted to say, panic starting to rise in her throat. _If worst came to worst, we were going to use my enlistment to take me out of the running; we agreed on it_. But she could not say any of that here and now, and so, brain spinning, she tried to come up with another answer to Brunwulf's proposal.

"I have no intention of changing my mind, Jarl Brunwulf," she replied, finally, the reluctance seeping through into her voice. "But . . . if it would aid the process of the Moot, I suppose it will do no harm to wait."

"Very gracious of you," Brunwulf acknowledged and turned then to General Tullius. "I propose we hold the first vote to see where we all stand now. We can then hear the arguments from both sets of supporters."

There were no objections, and so Gallica watched with increasing alarm as Tullius stood and called for the vote. For Elisif there was Elisif herself, Igmund of Markarth, Brina Merilis of Dawnstar, and Siddgeir of Falkreath. Balgruuf, Idgrod, Maven, Brunwulf Free-Winter of Windhelm, and Kraldar of Winterhold came down on Gallica's side. A simple majority was not sufficient, as six of the Jarls would have to support a candidate before it was considered a decisive vote, but the numbers were already worryingly close comfort and a quick glance revealed the look of surprise and worry on Elisif's face as well.

The rest of the session until it was time to break for the midday meal was taken up with the arguments from each of the Jarls for their particular choice. Idgrod and Balgruuf reiterated their earlier position. Igmund of Markarth spoke of Elisif's previous experience as queen and compassionate nature, while Maven expounded on Gallica's keen intellect, honorable conduct, and obvious leadership potential. That Maven should be the one to speak of her as "honorable" made Gallica want to groan with irony, but she kept her peace and listened. Brina Merlis made only a short comment about reunion with the Empire and respect for the Emperor's wishes, though it was clear she was troubled by the way things were going in the Moot already. Brunwulf Free-winter recollected Gallica's righteous stand for the Dark Elves and Argonians in Windhelm and attested to her prowess as a warrior. Kraldar made a surprisingly impassioned speech about Gallica as a progressive leader who combined the best of Skyrim's traditions and history with common sense and a forward-looking attitude. Siddgeir of Falkreath, for his part, made a few forgettable remarks about Elisif's beauty and charm and how perfect she looked on the throne, which seemed to accomplish little except to make Elisif herself uncomfortable. By then, the sun outside the windows was high and it was time to break for the morning.

Gallica waited anxiously as the Jarl's filed out, talking among themselves and their retainers, and caught Tullius' eye as he stood and prepared to follow. His expression was grave and he nodded as if to say, _we need to talk_. She followed him out of the chamber and waited apprehensively as he sent Rikke down to the hall ahead of him to monitor the situation before moving quickly into a side room. It was a large study, warm and well-lit from the broad windows that lined the outside facing wall, and Gallica paced towards them, turning in time to see Tullius close the door behind them.

"This is a nightmare," she began, without waiting for him to speak. The General waited, watching her soberly, as she vented her agitation. "The Daedra take Maven. I should never have agreed to stay in the running. I _knew_ this was going to happen!"

"I don't think it would have mattered much if you had refused," Tullius observed, carefully. "That all felt scripted to me."

"You think she and Brunwulf planned it out in advance?" Gallica asked, incredulously, and Tullius sighed, staring at the ground for a moment as he weighed the question. He shook his head.

"I doubt it. Brunwulf doesn't seem likely to involve himself with a Maven Black-Briar conspiracy. But Maven clearly knew what she was doing today and how the other Jarls would respond. I wouldn't be surprised if she had planted a few suggestions here and there in the right ears."

"She visited me this morning. She she said intended to see me become queen and that she wanted some assurance that I would be willing to show my appreciation once that happened. She said I would need her help," Gallica said, and suddenly recalled Maven's exact words with a chill. _Just ask your dear General. He'll tell you the same_. "She's approached you about it, too, hasn't she?"

His gaze flicked immediately up to her, and though his expression did not change, she knew that it was true.

"Yes," he admitted, grudgingly. "Maven was instrumental in the Legion's intelligence gathering during the war. She's still a valuable asset, and she was waiting to deliver her latest report when I arrived back at Dour last night. She made a few observations about how all this was going to go, as well. One of which was that it would cause a massive scandal if I used the hard letter of your enlistment to prevent you from taking the throne, only to dispense you from it in order for us to marry afterwards. Which I take to mean that she will make an issue of it with the other Jarls if that should happen."

"Gods above us, that woman really does have her fingers in every pie in Skyrim, doesn't she?" Gallica exclaimed, disgusted, before adding reproachfully, "So, that's why you didn't intervene. You should have told me this morning, I could have tried to prevent it from getting that far."

"I suppose I should have, but we can discuss that later. What matters now is what's to be done about it," Tullius replied, stoically. She could see that he was stung by her disappointment, and it bothered her to be at odds with him, especially right now, but he was right. Feelings and should-haves would have to wait. She paced to the windows and looked out over the garden for a moment to clear her mind, watching the city life going on as usual outside in the palace garden and the street beyond.

"Elisif and Igmund aren't going to change their positions," Gallica said, at last, as much to herself as to Tullius. "Siddgeir has pretensions of marrying Elisif, so he'll stick by her as long as she gives him hope. And Brina Merilis will vote however you tell her to."

"All it takes is one of those four to break ranks and then we're in a bind." Tullius reflected, moving over to stand next to her at the window. He was looking at her, but she did not look back, more so that she would not be distracted from her thoughts than the sudden awkwardness of an argument averted. She watched a group of children dart down the road beyond the garden wall outside, absorbed in some game or other, and sighed.

"They already know I won't have it. This is an exercise in futility."

"And if the vote does go in your favor? Since we no longer have your contract as protection, what will you tell them?" he asked, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question, and she could hear the weariness in his voice as he continued. "I find myself in a difficult position, Gallica. It's hard for me to remain objective where you and I are concerned. Maven is a unprincipled, malicious, criminal old haridan, but she's not wrong in her assessment, as much as I hate to say it. When it was between Elisif and Ulfric, the choice was clear. Now that it's between you and Elisif, however, it's clear that you would be the better choice by far. And, if the letters I've had recently are of any indication, the choice the Emperor would likely make if he were here. I can never say that in open council for a number of reasons, not least because it would be a political fiasco for the Legion to pull away from Elisif now, but it is true. And I think even you realize it. The more I think on this, the more I must admit that it would be wrong for me to stand in your way, even if I could at this point."

She looked up at him then to see the furrow in his brow, the concerned set to his features. Something more than he was saying was bothering him, she could see the anguished shadow of it in his dark eyes, and it made her want to fling her arms around him and tell him that everything would work out in the end. Instead, she sighed again and let her shoulders slump slightly.

"What do you think I should do?"

"What you think is right," Tullius replied, and shook his head. "Don't worry about me. I have to support Elisif publically, at least until the Moot decides against her. At this point, though, the Empire will have a strong supporter on the throne of Skyrim either way, so I will have discharged my duty regardless. If it comes down to it, and we may be lucky yet, do whatever you think will allow you to sleep at night a decade from now."

He leaned forward, taking her face gently in his hands and kissed her. Something about the touch set off a heaviness in Gallica's chest, as if it were a goodbye kiss, as if he were beginning to pull away from her somehow, and she kissed him back, twining her arms around him to hold him there. When they broke she took his hands and look up into his eyes.

"I love you," she said with conviction and was comforted slightly when she felt him squeeze her hands in return. He smiled, faintly.

"And I you. But there's work to be done. No doubt they're all wondering how bad of a harangue I'm giving you for not refusing Jarl Brunwulf outright earlier. Put on your best contrite face to save my reputation and lets go join the others."

~~0~~

By the time the Moot reconvened for the afternoon session, Gallica had been approached by almost all of the Jarls who had voted for her previously. Each of them made it very clear that they would only accept Elisif as queen if Gallica herself truly did not wish to take the throne, and more than one urged her to do so. It was Brunwulf Free-Winter's words that stuck with her as they entered the chamber to begin once more.

"I have nothing against Elisif. She was a good queen to Torygg, but there is a difference between being a queen consort and being Queen in her own right. She could do well enough with the handle of her advisors, but it would be whoever she marries eventually that would control the decisions she makes. You, on the other hand, are fully capable of standing on your own and you have the humility to rule well and compassionately. I don't know a citizen of Skyrim who would not be proud to claim the Dragonborn as their High Queen. Think on it, Dragonborn. You will have all the support I and Windhelm can give, if you choose to accept. We owe you that much for our liberation."

The afternoon session was more contentious than the morning had been. Maven was the first to speak, summing up in her very succinct and business-like way the many reason why Gallica's potential was superior to Elisif's. Balgruuf spoke next, drawing Maven's exegesis together on the notion that the Dragonborn was a gift of Akatosh and bound by nature and long tradition to rule and rule well. Igmund, who seemed to have taken up the position of Elisif's chief supporter, argued against all comers until he was nearly hoarse from talking. The other Jarls listened, throwing out a question here and there until Idgrod stood.

"This is all very well and good, but we have both of our candidates right here. Let's put our questions to Elisif and the Dragonborn herself instead of speculating on what they would do like a bunch of old women at a spinning circle," the Jarl of Morthal said and turned to grin at Gallica. _When this is over_, Gallica thought, _you and I and Balgruuf are going to have a very stern conversation_, but the other Jarls agreed immediately. For what seemed like hours, Gallica and Elisif answered question after question, from serious concerns regarding the defense of the province to hypothetical situations involving the dispensation of justice to a few rather silly questions from Siddgeir about their preferences for dancing and feasting. Gallica thought that Elisif did well, but could not help but admit that the girl was out of her depth without her advisors to chime in for her. She was good-hearted and more perceptive and clever than many gave her credit for, but many of her answers only reinforced her naivete about the realities of state.

Finally, as the shadows began to creep along the floors and tables, a vote was called for. Elisif and Igmund spoke first, casting their votes for Elisif as expected, and Siddgeir followed suite. Balgruuf, Idgrod, and Maven remained resolute supporters of Gallica. Brunwulf Free-Winter and Kralder of Winterhold enthusiastically lent their votes to Gallica as well, leaving Brina Merilis of Dawnstar as the last one to speak.

"Well, that was a waste of time, we're back where we started," muttered Siddgeir, as Brina cleared her throat and stood. The retired legionnaire looked worried, Gallica thought. She had been quiet through most of the day, only proposing a few questions during the afternoon session, and had seemed lost in her thoughts during the midday break. The Jarl of Dawnstar surveyed her fellows and then sighed.

"I am and have always been a loyal citizen of the Empire. After listening to all that has been said in council today, I feel that I have to do what is best for my people in Dawnstar and for Skyrim," she looked to Tullius and nodded. "My apologies, General, but I cast my vote in favor of the Dragonborn. I do not believe we can go any longer without a strong presence on the throne."

The room burst into a thunder of voices, along with a smattering of applause from some of the retainers present. Gallica felt the blood drain out of her face, but she did not move or turn to look at Tullius. _Do what you think right_, she remembered him saying, and knew that he would say nothing to prevent what was about to happen. Once again, it was entirely up to her now, as it seemed everything had been over the last year.

"That is two-thirds of the Jarls in agreement," Balgruuf said, standing. He was smiling broadly, and there was a note of triumph in his voice. "The Moot has selected the Dragonborn to be High Queen."

"But does the Dragonborn accept?" Maven replied, eying Gallica with a curious, satisfied smile, for all the world as Gallica imagined a spider surveying a fly in her web might look. From every corner of the room, expectant faces turned to Gallica and she looked at them, their breaths caught in their throat to hear her reply. She wanted to refuse, but seeing the faces, the hopeful expressions from some, reminded her of another promise she had made to herself after returning from the Dawnguard. Akatosh had laid out a destiny for her as the Dragonborn, and she had fulfilled it. She would no longer excoriate herself for being what the Divine had seen fit to make her or see it as a burden, and she had vowed to use it to accomplish what she could in the world. And was this not just such an opportunity? The world groaned for stability and order and the Empire creaked with its advanced age. How much more could she do to ensure its survival and return to glory with the throne of Skyrim behind her? How much better positioned would she be to eventually help eject the Thalmor, her dream as much as it had been Ulfric's?

Tullius had told her to make her own decisions. With him as her consort, she would be able to escape the worst of the restrictions she would face as High Queen. She would be able to travel from the capital and trust him to keep a firm handle on the situation in her absence. It was, perhaps, not what either of them had ever expected or wanted, but that was the life of a soldier and they would adapt. And she would not be in it alone, as she had been when she faced Alduin. Taking a deep breath, she made her decision and stepped forward, clearing her throat and meeting each pair of eyes among the Jarls in succession.

"You have all heard my thoughts on this subject," she said, and felt her mouth go dry and her heart leap into her throat. "Though I am honored, you know that it has always been in my mind to refuse. But, as I have recently been told by so many people, this is not a decision to be made lightly and I cannot simply disregard the wisdom of the Elder Council and of people for whom I have such respect. So, I ask you, is this truly your will, Jarls of Skyrim?"

"It has always been mine," Balgruuf replied, his voice a satisfied growl.

"Indeed," Idgrod Ravencrone crowed, her crow's eyes sparkling in the falling light from the windows.

"Windhelm supports you," Brunwulf Free-winter agreed.

"And Winterhold, as long as I hold it," Kralder added, seeming genuinely pleased.

"Yes," said Maven, simply, her smug smile unchanging.

"So long as you maintain faith with the Empire, you will have Dawnstar at your back," Brina Merilis said, carefully.

"Oh, why not?" Siddgeir said after a tense moment, as if ready to get the ordeal over with, and raised his cup to Gallica. "Everyone already knows she's won. Hail the Dragonborn, let's get on to the feast."

"And I will support her as well," Elisif added, much to everyone's surprise. Igmund looked on aghast as the current queen rose from her throne and turned to Gallica. She smiled, a genuine expression, though somewhat brittle and fraught with other suppressed emotions. "I have only held out because Skyrim needed a leader during the war and for the sake of doing justice for my Torygg. I thought that I could continue to be the leader that my husband was, but you have done so many things for Skyrim, and for my city, and for me personally that I never could have. And so, who am I to stand in your way?"

Gallica watched incredulously as Elisif stepped aside, leaving the throne open, and saw her steward, Falk Firebeard move up behind her to lay a hand on her shoulder in comfort. There was no doubt from the younger woman's face that it had taken a great deal of personal strength to admit defeat and Gallica was moved by it. But she had little time to reflect on this before all eyes fell on Igmund, the last of the Jarls to speak. He stared at Elisif for a moment longer and then turned his gaze to regard Gallica with a disgruntled, suspicious expression.

"Well, Igmund?" Maven asked, finally. The Jarl of Markarth grimaced and nodded.

"I will not prevent it. Markarth has always been loyal to the_ crown_," he said, more than a little bitterly. And so attention turned back to Gallica, the room as silent as a tomb as they waited. She looked at Tullius one last time, watching her closely, his features tight and inexpressive._ For what I'm about to do to both of us, I hope you can forgive me later_, she thought, and stood up to her full height, picking up the dragonhelm from the table.

"I was raised to expect a life of duty and service to the Empire and to my people. One piece of wisdom that my father's father, a Nord of Skyrim, passed down to my father and therefore to me was that those who are given power have the responsibility to wield it well and honorably and for the betterment of others. The Divines have given me power, and I would not disappoint my ancestors and those who have looked to me for aid by failing to honor my duty. And so- " Gallica began and paused, nearly choking on the word. Tullius' face remained a mask, though she could see the realization of what she was about to say come into his eyes, and could not tell whether it was pleasure or pain that rose up there. She cleared her throat and continued, turning her eyes to the rest of the assembly. "So, despite my reservations, if this council is agreed that it would be best for Skyrim, I will accept the office of High Queen and I will do my utmost to uphold the faith in me that has been shown here today." _Divines help me_, she added to herself, her nerves singing a song shriller than a child's penny whistle, as voices rose in joyous response through the room.


End file.
